


Inner Toxin

by TheDeadlyViper



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Divorce, F/M, Gangs, Illegal Activities, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Marriage, Smut, Southside Serpent Jughead Jones
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-26
Updated: 2018-11-26
Packaged: 2019-08-29 05:00:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16737577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDeadlyViper/pseuds/TheDeadlyViper
Summary: "There are poisons that blind you and poisons that open your eyes." - August Strindberg





	Inner Toxin

**Author's Note:**

> I originally intended this to be a lot more soap opera and longer, but it turned real dark fast. I might still keep it up and get more into the details.

 

Betty had made the solemn promise for roughly the thousandth time. Another promise she could never keep. To not give in to the charms of the Serpent King, her ex-husband. Particularly when said husband is leaning against the staircase, arms crossed over his chest and perfectly coiffed dark hair falling into his eyes. Cheryl Blossom was at his side, as usual. Cheryl being his main right hand in nearly everything. Of course, as soon as he notices her staring from behind the bar counter, he smirks over at her. And tilts his gaze slightly in the direction of the stairs with cool green eyes. Her face goes red hot and she sets down the damn rag she'd been holding and wonders vaguely exactly what kind of idiot she is. It's like he has this invisible cord wrapped around her. She finds herself coming around the corner to go to him. And then he's leading her up the stairs. He goes to sit on the edge of the bed, tugging her wrists gently to draw her into the space between his knees. She settles into the steps of the dance they do so well, he stripping her slashed tank top and unlatching her bra underneath with practiced fingers. His hands smooth down the sides of her skirt, working it down her thighs before finally, he pulls his shirt over his head and her breath catches, as it always does. He's got a smattering of tattoos, besides the Serpent symbol on his shoulder these days.  ** _Since 1942_** is printed across his lower abdomen. He's got a more complicated skull and snake motif on the inside of his left arm and the letters  **SMC** and the crown symbol spread across the knuckles of that hand. The crown is where his wedding band used to be. As he brings that hand up to draw her close to kiss her, she notes the faint mark it had left. No sooner than she's stepping out of her panties, he's pulling her into his lap. And damn, he can be, if not romantic, then at least, tender, she thinks as he sucks lightly on her neck. Her arms loop around him and he's getting a grip around her hips and she hisses a sharp intake of breath as he slides up into her. She tips her head back slightly as his arms go tight and hard around her, smashing her hips into his. He kisses her shoulder lightly, muffling the soft groan. He pulls away to lean back on his one hand for support, keeping the other arm around her lower back, to give her more control over the pace. Which she takes full advantage of, gripping his shoulders as she rocks into him. His breathing turns quick.   
"R-right there." He whispers and his grip tightens even more, holding her down in the move she recognizes as his pre-orgasm position. And knowing that he's that close to coming, brings her to the edge. She's digging her nails into his shoulders and his breathing hitches sharply. It comes out shaky before he releases his grip.

By the time she's tucked up underneath the blanket, he's already pulling his black jeans back up. She feels the cool metal from the rings that remain on the other hand and

the touch of his lips.  
  
"I gotta go." He whispers against her skin. She makes a soft noise. Of course he does. It was never enough. Always temporary. Like trying to hold onto a mirage. One minute, solid beneath her, the next dissapearing into the darkness and leaving her cold and alone. Another broken promise.   
  
A Serpent never sheds it's skin, she reminds herself, glumly. 

“Can you sign this, please?” She'd asked less than a year into their ill-fated marriage and set the stack of papers in front of him.  
“What - “ She cut him off first.  
“I want a divorce.” He had glanced down and thumbed through a few of the pages before picking up the pen and signing the bottom where there’s a line for both parties.

There’s nine pages, total. He'd simply handed back the signed papers without a word.  
And she’d been hurt and disappointed and utterly unsurprised that he hadn’t even asked why. Hadn’t even bothered trying to talk her out of it.   
“You aren’t going to talk me out of it?” He'd shook his head.  
“No.”   
“You don’t want me to stay?” She asked, wounded.   
“I didn’t say that.” He'd replied. “But if you don’t want to be married to me anymore, I'm not going to make you."   
“Well, you’re a shitty husband so.” She'd snapped in a burst of hurt and anger. He said nothing. 

The violence and bloodshed she could handle. She's used to the tight anxiety, wrapping itself around her throat everytime he leaves on a run or to commit some other atrocious felony that she, most likely, doesn't want to know about. If that were all. But it's not. It was the battleground that came up between them, almost immediately following the exchange of vows. At best, he's cold and distant. And she tries everything to get a reaction. To make him at least pretend to care. And that only results in his temper snapping, until he finally says something sardonic and cruel. Finding just the right biting comment to shake her sense of security. He hadn't always been that way. Back then. Before the Serpents. When he'd just been the smart, sarcastic kid who got picked on a lot. Before the MC took priority over everything. Before the Serpent's venom had poisoned the structures of their respective world. Before it had wrapped it's coils around his heart.   
  
He had provided for her every material need. She had a permanent job bartending at the resurrected Whyte Wyrm. A job she didn't even need, given the access she had to a near constant flow of undocumented cash. She had leverage over the entire club and no one dare touch or mistreat her. He protected her from everything. Except himself. And without love, there is nothing.  Even if it weren't for fights and the ice in his veins. It's the longing that breaks her. She was supposed to be his Queen. But she was his prisoner. She'd finally come to understand the meaning of the Ouroboros. Her mother had warned her about the snake that consumes it's own tail. It was the circles of repitition as they re-enacted the same patterns that their parents had. And their parents before them. And on and on. In an endless cycle of love and hate.   
 


End file.
